


I've Been Watching You For Hours, It's Been Years Since We Were Born

by starsandgutters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, bunker!fic, but only sorta because these two are dumbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So. Hey. You know I was just thinking, and, and I realized‒‒ you don’t <i>have a birthday</i>. I mean, I don’t think you do? Do angelic wavelengths celebrate birthdays? Can you even <i>have</i> birthdays without having calendar months?”</p><p>In which Dean realizes that his definition of 'birthday' is not the only applicable one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Been Watching You For Hours, It's Been Years Since We Were Born

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by goodgrim, and revised by [ethicalmadness](http://ethicalmadness.tumblr.com). Thank you ever so much, ladies.<3

It hadn’t occurred to Dean until later, much later ‒ after the battle that had almost killed them all ‒ and when it did, it was entirely by accident.

He had woken up, checked the radio-alarm on his bedtable to see it was ass-o-clock in the morning, and the date had reminded him that Sam’s birthday was approaching. He lay there for a while, thinking of what to get his giant baby brother: a month’s worth of organic groceries? An armband for his iPod, for when he went on his douchey Lance Armstrong runs? Had to be something good, since he and Sam had only just started to be on tentatively good terms again. Saving the world (again) just did something in the way of bonding, apparently.

And that’s when it struck him, and he turned around to prod at the sleeping form next to him.

“Cas. Hey, Cas.”

A muffled half-grunt was all he got in reply from the blanket burrito at his side. Dean rolled his eyes. Boarding up Heaven had been a bitch, but they’d managed it eventually; managed to shove all the factions back upstairs, clip Metatron’s wings and slam the doors on the whole dysfunctional lot. Except, of course, Castiel had been locked  _outside_  of it, which was kind of exactly the opposite of their original plan (and ain’t that just a shocker). While Dean would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t fucking  _stoked_  not to lose his best friend, he hadn’t counted on Cas getting stuck behind with them for good, and he’d been worried about how Castiel would take to the steadfast approach of humanity. Being human once, for a while, was hard, but Cas ‒  _Steve_  ‒ had done okay. Being human  _permanently,_  however? Whole different can of worms, and both brothers had been ready for a fallout of some sort.

Castiel, however, had taken it remarkably well. Apparently, he really  _had_  missed the simple pleasures of human nature; and with the remainders of his stolen Grace gone, expended in the effort of removing the mark of Cain from Dean’s arm, he had simply buckled up and accepted his fate gracefully (pun kinda intended, though Dean mostly kept that one to himself).

Cas made a good human, really, a pretty decent hunter too (okay, kinda  _more_  than pretty decent). He grew plants, read a lot, loved bad TV shows and helping people; that one, of course, wasn’t much of a change, but where there used to be healing and zapping, now there was volunteering and kindness. He had his own room in the bunker ‒ in fact, he had been thrilled to move in with Sam and Dean, his enthusiasm for their friendship relentless ‒ though lately he tended to bunk up with Dean more often than not. And this latest development ‒ this… this  _thing_  between them that Dean stubbornly refused to name even though he knew perfectly well what it was, that he couldn’t quite believe was real but made his chest feel all warm and aching in the best way anyways ‒ appeared to be just one more reason why Castiel liked being human.

That said, however, mornings were  _hard._  It had been a nightmare ‒ sometimes, quite literally ‒ for Cas to get used to falling asleep again, the loss of consciousness always hard to cope with; but it was even harder to get him to wake up at a decent hour, and when he did he was out of it at best and cranky at worst. In fact, Cas was at his absolute  _bitchiest_  in the mornings, especially pre‒coffee. Dean, however, was in too good a mood to care.

“Hey, Cas. Cas! Come on. Rise and shine.” He grabbed hold of what he thought was Castiel’s arm inside the burrito, and shoved with more urgency.

This time, the disgruntled noise was longer and louder, and a bedraggled head emerged from the cocoon.

“Hmmmph?” Cas huffed out from his nose, eyes blinking owlishly against the soft morning sunlight.  “Dean.  What is the reason of your waking me at such an insane, unholy hour?” Cas’s voice was the usual blend of gravel and smoke ‒ more so for being sleep-rough ‒  and Dean’s dick gave an interested twitch. However, he had other things on his mind, for a shocking change.  _Down, boy._

“So. Hey. You know I was just thinking, and, and I realized‒‒ you don’t  _have a birthday._  I mean, I don’t think you do? Do angelic wavelengths celebrate birthdays? Can you even  _have_  birthdays without having calendar months?”

“You’re rambling.” Cas said, amusement and fondness creeping their way into his grumpy sleepiness and his lips quirking into a small smile.

“Shuddup, you’re barely even awake. Either way, you should have one now you’re human.  You know, a birthday. A  _human_  birthday.  ‘Sides, having one date picked out will make it easier for you if you have to fill in any forms or just, I dunno, keep up a convincing lie when you’re undercover.”  _And I could cook homemade Mexican food and wake you up with morning sex,_  was more what Dean was thinking, but he kept it sealed tightly behind his lips.

Cas hummed pensively, squinting a little, considering the idea. Really, Dean was counting himself lucky that the guy was feeling cooperative enough to even listen, rather than just throw a pillow at his head and go back to sleep.

“You make a valid point. Birthdays do seem to be essential to being human. Of course I do remember coming into existence, but you’re right, time was neither measured nor of import then. Yes, I should pick out a date. A proper human date.” Cas concluded, breaking out his goofy ‘I’m gonna be a hunter!’ smile. (This time, the twitch in Dean’s groin was matched by a noticeable tug in the heart region. And who the fuck was that articulate in the morning anyway? Dorky ex-angels with unreasonably blue eyes, that’s who.)

“Any ideas?” Dean prodded, because honestly he was curious now, and because it felt so  _good_  to have the time and luxury to spend any amount of energy on completely trivial things. The world wasn’t ending, Hell was closed for business, they had a home. And though he’d never say it out loud ‒ because seriously, when did things like these  _ever_  last for them? ‒  Dean was starting to feel  _happy._

Castiel didn’t answer, choosing instead to sit cross-legged on the bed and wrap the blankets over his shoulders like some Tibetan monk. He was clearly weighing his birthday options very carefully, with all the intensity and focus which he reserved for… most things, really, and which Dean had always found sort of unsettling.

 _What about the date when you fell?,_  Dean almost asked, but stopped himself in the nick of time, while simultaneously kicking himself for even thinking it. That might be the date when Cas had become human, but even though he was dealing with it remarkably well, that didn’t mean it had been easy or that he didn’t still miss his wings. The last thing Dean wanted to do was trigger a wave of heavenly nostalgia.

He knew ‒ in theory, at least ‒ that Cas was more or less happy, and that he had  _chosen_  to stay behind rather than get locked up in Heaven permanently. But he also knew that for all his newfound humanity, Cas would always be  _different_ , somehow; that part of him would always remember what it was like to be pure power and purpose, righteousness and crackling electricity, wrath and storm-scented wings. But a Castiel with wings was a Castiel who could fly away; away from them, away from  _him_. Dean wasn’t entirely sure that, given the chance, Cas wouldn’t realise he was better than planting flowers and killing monsters, better than life in the bunker, better than whatever  _Dean_  could possibly offer‒‒ and take off.

A tap on the shoulder shook him out of the funk he’d fallen into without noticing. He looked up to see Cas ‒ now fully awake ‒ studying him intently, concern spelled clearly in his blue eyes.

“Dean. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry, I’m fine. Just spaced out a little. Guess I woke up too early for my own good,” he covered, exaggerating a yawn as he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “What’d I miss?”

“Well, I think I have come up with the perfect date. I’m quite pleased with it. The year will need some more thought, but I suppose I could just go by Jimmy Novak’s age.”

Cas’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Dean found himself grinning again. “Okay then, go on. Let’s hear it.”

“September the 18th.”

Silence fell in the bedroom. Dean’s smile faltered.

He recognised the date, of  _course_  he did, as if he could ever forget. Crawling your way out of your grave and almost getting your ears blown out by the supernatural being that pulled you out of Hell isn’t something that just fades with time.

But it didn’t make a whole lot of sense, not for  _this_. (It was more of an  _anniversary_  date, if anything, and‒‒ oh hell no Dean was  _not_  going to say that one out loud.)

Obviously, the last thing he wanted was to rain over Cas’s I’m-a-proper-human parade by criticizing his choice; he still remembered with vague dread the whole debacle with the cats (but seriously, Dean didn’t care if it was ‘only logical’ to befriend the strays around the bunker by giving them leftovers, they could hardly remain inconspicous with a host of felines perpetually lined up outside the bunker door), and the yelling, hurt looks and unfairly long dry spell that had caused.

“That sounds… great, Cas. Though, the way I remember it, seems more like my, uh… _re_ ‒birthday or whatever.” He pointed out with a smirk and a one-shouldered shrug.  _Keep it casual, Winchester; keep it cool._  “I mean it’s fine, of course. Just. Odd choice. Were you even vesseled-up back then?”

Castiel tilted his head to one side slightly, with his trademark ‘please stop being confusing on purpose’ squint. And okay, yeah, Dean was far gone enough to admit it was just a little adorable.

 “I am given to understand that a birthday is when a person first comes into existence.” He said, simply, his hands resting loosely over his ankles, his voice so calm, like he hadn’t just thrown Dean one of the most egregious curve balls he’d ever seen.

“But that’s not‒‒”

“When I was created? No, it isn’t. But Dean, I was hardly a  _person_  before that.” Castiel’s right hand unfurled from where it was resting, and reached out gently for Dean’s, fingers loosely grasping his wrist.

“Mindless obedience, watching humanity for  _eons_  without taking a stand… having my superiors tear into my head whenever they pleased, hammering it home that the end justified the means, that good soldiers don’t ask questions? That may be existing, but I wasn’t a  _living_  thing, not really. I had seen so much, but I knew so little. I hadn’t experienced feelings, or the loyalty that follows true friendship; I didn’t know how to  _want_ , what to stand for or why. I was fearless, but I didn’t know how to be  _brave._  I loved humanity, but I didn’t know what it was to  _truly_  care. I was… no-one, Dean. Until I raised you. Until I  _met_  you. And then I went from being Heaven’s weapon to being  _someone._  So, yes, Dean. September 18th is, in fact, my birthday.”

Dean’s mouth was so dry, and his heartbeat so loud in his ears, that forming words felt like a physical impossibility. But something must have shown on his face, and it must have been one heck of a show, or maybe Cas just knew ‒ he was really good at  _just knowing_  ‒ because he squeezed Dean’s wrist once, warmly, and didn’t say anything more.

(A few moments later ‒ after Dean had calmed his racing heart and swallowed past the lump in his throat once, twice, ineffectually ‒ he would reach for Castiel and kiss the living daylights out of him, morning breath and all. And a little later yet, they would be sliding against each other, slick with sweat and want, Dean pressing kisses everywhere he could reach while Cas’s hands dug into his shoulders, and then they both would say a  _lot_  of other things‒‒ none of them about birthdays, but that was  _just fine._ )

 

***

 

When they eventually made it to the kitchen and joined Sam for lunch, Cas informed him with no small amount of pride that for future reference, his birthday would be September the 18th.

And Sam, of course (because Dean’s stupid gigantor of a brother just  _had_  to be annoyingly smart)  _knew_  right away, and his head swiveled round to face Dean, with this surprised halfsmile that said a lot of things Dean wasn’t ready to hear quite yet.

“Shut your face, Bigfoot. It’s‒ it’s astrology crap, okay?” he groused, blushing into his sandwich. “We just figured, with the nerdiness and how anal he is about always keeping everything super-tidy, he had to be a Virgo.” He paused, pursing his lips, and, “Well, not  _literally_ , obviously...” he conceded,  grinning when he got a painful smack across the arm from Cas and a ‘Ew, Dean,  _gross_ ’ from Sam.

He kept grinning for a while afterwards. And that warm, aching feeling in his chest just didn’t seem to want to leave.

As far as Dean was concerned, it was welcome to stay indefinitely. He had a birthday party to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Counting Crows, "A Murder of One." [[Are you happy where you're sleeping? Does he keep you safe and warm?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ePfsdr94ow&feature=kp)]
> 
> For some reason, I got started thinking of this out of nowhere, and then just really latched on to the idea that Cas's birthday would be on September 18, both because I liked the date and because of the very, very obvious reason. Self-appeasing in the form of fic followed. :)


End file.
